


A Different Number

by Spectre_Anon



Series: Mirror Image [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor worries, Father-Son Relationship, Gavin needs time to stop being a jerk, Gen, Hank cares, RK900 is called Ethan, all platonic for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre_Anon/pseuds/Spectre_Anon
Summary: RK900 is ready to carve his place in the DPD, but everyone keeps calling him Connor, Gavin Reed is an asshole, his plant is in danger, and he may have possibly contracted a virus. Things are not going to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Follow on from my fic 'They come and they go'

It was a week until they stopped referring to RK900 as Connor.

Androids could easily tell each other apart at a glance even if they happened to be the same model, but humans struggled... they always got too caught up on the _faces_. Ethan supposed it wasn't their fault evolution had left them shorthanded. The inability to scan was inconceivable to him, but humans had to deal with it every day of their lives and so androids, as a result, were forced to endure the challenges that having several thousand others with their face brought. Or in Ethan's case, one.

They shouldn't have to wear name tags, that was far too reminiscent of their Cyberlife days, was it really that hard to tell and RK800 from an RK900? They even had a different eye colour. The slowness of humans was frustrating at times. How had anyone ever considered them the superior species?

Connor was Connor, Ethan was Ethan. They were two very distinct individuals, even if they did happen to be printed with the same face, down to the freckles and other carefully designed imperfections that dotted their synthetic skin. If Hank was able to tell them apart then it stood to reason that the rest of the precinct should be able to do so too.

And yet... it was a mistake to place too much faith in humans.

Patience was the best course of action, he was assured, but every time he or his twin had to correct someone, Ethan felt as spark of irritation flicker in his subsystems.

Logically it shouldn't matter. Logically it should mean nothing to him. The times wasted on corrections was minimal, but he was quickly discovering this was something of a sore spot for him. He liked Connor well enough, but... being so interchangeable with another? That he did _not_ like.

 _Connor_ had saved Hank's life on at least two accounts. _Connor_ had changed the man's perception of androids. _Connor_ had helped Hank open up after the death of his son, and forgive himself for the terrible events of that night. Connor and Hank had been through hell together and come out the other side.

 _Ethan_ had just been handed a home because he had the same face. Connor had earned his place by Hank's side, and Ethan simply ended up there because of a connection that had nothing to do with who he _was_. It irked him. So he had left.

Then he had found himself at the DPD, because his processing power was suited to one thing, and maybe he'd thought he needn't fear being in Connor's shadow when he could prove himself through his _own_ work. He'd hoped that they would be on level ground. That they could work side by side, and any lingering bitterness or doubts on his part would fade now he had his own home, a space that was _only_ his, and his skills would earn him the recognition he deserved from the DPD as _Ethan_. He would have enjoyed that.

But no, _Connor_ had spent months working with the DPD, and assisted in the android revolution and destruction of Cyberlife that had shaped their world today. _Connor_ had accomplished so much in such a short time, and Ethan had had his deviancy gifted to him moments after his activation, along with a home and a sympathy he felt he never deserved. For all that he was designed to surpass him, it felt at times as if he'd never be able to catch up with the RK800.

This was a position he _earned_ because of his own merits, because he was _beyond_ qualified, because if anything he was _superior_ to Connor in that regard. He wasn't taking this job because of Connor. It had nothing to do with him, this was the kind of work that Ethan had been _designed_ for, he had every right to want it for himself. He would not be defined by another.

Yet the moment he was instated, his connection to the RK800 was yet again forced to his attention. There was no escaping it. They shared the same face, and humans were such simple creatures. It was always Connor. The world was determined to remind him that he was only ever a reflection of an android that had come before.

Connor was understanding of course, he took the time to correct people and encourage them to learn their differences and be careful to ensure they used the right name. A kind gesture, but a pointless one, Ethan had decided. He was busy contemplating whether writing his name upon his forehead would be passive aggressive or merely childish.

After the first week however, some progress appeared to have been made. After the second, they even stopped referring to him as 'other Connor'.

Naturally, Gavin was the exception to the rule, but Gavin had never much cared to use either of their names. 'Plastic prick', 'Ken doll' and 'tin can' tended to be his favorite alternatives. Ethan found the last of these particularly insulting simply because of its inaccuracy – androids did not contain a significant amount of tin – although he never bothered to voice his opinion.

It didn't take long since his arrival at the DCPD for Ethan to come to the conclusion that Gavin was an asshole. The man did very little to hide it.

Him and Connor seemed to be in firm agreement on this point, and although Connor appeared willing to tolerate the ongoing insults, Ethan was another matter. Ways to irritate detective Reed became his secondary objective, directly under his workload.

Given that Gavin appeared to find the similarities between RK800 and RK900 units 'creepy', a quick test with Connor's help revealed that he distinctly disliked it when the two of them spoke at the same time.

Thusly, Ethan made a point of keeping track of Gavin's movements so that he could send an alert to Connor when Gavin made an appearance, and the pair of them could convene to greet the detective at exactly the same time, with the same words, expression, and tone. The tightening of the man's shoulders and the way he appeared to suppress a shudder never failed to send a spark of pleasure through Ethan's subsystems.

His similarities to Connor might trouble him, but it appeared they had their uses too.

Ethan also arrived at the precinct early, before most people came in, so that he had the opportunity to adjust Gavin's chair to the wrong height and rearrange his desk.

He calculated a 94% chance that Gavin knew it was him that was doing it, but there wasn't much he could do _about_ it without catching him in the act, and Ethan was too smart to let that happen. He always ensured there were no witnesses, and he was able to loop the security footage for the thirty seconds it took him to complete. The two times Gavin dragged himself out of bed in an attempt to find him up to mischief he'd simply walked in and offered the detective a pleasant greeting and an innocent smile, before settling down at his own desk and connecting to his computer as if nothing were amiss.

Gavin had scowled. He'd snapped at Ethan to get him a coffee, and after some consideration Ethan complied. He brought him decaf, with three times more sugar than he was aware the detective liked.

When Gavin finally complained to Fowler, he'd been told to 'get over it'.

“This isn't a fucking playground, Reed,” Fowler had said, “I'm not here to settle petty squabbles between children. If you have a problem, you solve it yourself, I don't have time for this.”

The entire precinct had heard him. Ethan could see Hank and Connor doing a poor job of hiding their smirks. Gavin fumed.

A week later Ethan changed the default font on Gavin's computer to Papyrus.

“I fucking know it's you, tin can,” he snarled, having cornered Ethan in the hallway.

Ethan looked down at the smaller man, not intimidated in the slightest. “I have no idea what you're talking about, detective Reed.”

“Don't play smart with me, I _know_ ,” he said, jabbing a finger into Ethan's chest. “You think you're so fucking clever. But I'll tell you what... the only reason you're not lying in the nearest dumpster right now is cos they think you're actually _people,_ six months ago I could have sent a bullet right through your plastic skull and no one would have given a shit.”

“And now it would be considered murder,” Ethan reminded him, “or attempted murder, I suppose, given that I am more than capable of incapacitating you before you before you could pull the trigger. But I'm sure you already know that. If an RK800 was able to do so, I doubt you would pose much of a challenge.”

Gavin visibly bristled, and Ethan wondered how much of a blow to his ego his run in with Connor in the archives had been. Significant, given his reaction. Perhaps he could use that in future?

Gavin took another step forward into Ethan's personal space. “Just you fucking try it. I've had enough of your stupid games, keep going and see where it gets you.”

“Have a pleasant day, detective,” Ethan said, easily stepping around him and making his way back to the bullpen. He could feel Gavin's eyes lingering on him.

“You shouldn't antagonize him so much,” Connor told him later. “Reed is an unstable individual with violent tendencies.”

“If you're worried for my safety your concern if unfounded, he's not a threat, I would not allow him to harm me.”

“I'm more worried about you harming him if things escalate,” Connor admitted, “a fight could jeopardize your position here, or at the very least add to your disciplinary folder.”

“And we wouldn't want that to start looking like Hank's,” Ethan said dryly.

Connor grinned. “No, we wouldn't,” he agreed.

“You two talking shit?” Hank called, obviously picking up on his name from across the room. He raised an eyebrow at the pair of them, and Ethan straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.

Connor looked guilty. “Of course not, Hank.”

“You have three coffee stains on your shirt and your socks don't match,” Ethan told him.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Hank said, but there was still a warmth to his tone. Ethan found himself smiling.

That evening Ethan went over to visit because 'Sumo missed him'. Ethan was perfectly aware that the dog was an excuse, but Hank wasn't one to express things if he didn't have to, and Ethan didn't see the point in forcing the truth out of him. Besides, he always intended to visit, it was just a little easier when he was invited first.

Hank had always been very... accommodating to him, one of the first humans he had met outside of the clean white labs of Cyberlife. He had not been like the technicians and scientists Ethan had been accustomed to. He was messy, rude, disorganized, still recovering from alcohol addiction and showing signs of mental health problems that were best handled by a therapist.

However, he'd let Ethan stay... he'd let him choose his own name... he'd bought him new clothes so he no longer had to wear his uniform... he'd been patient with him, and as time passed any initial hostility faded from his gaze leaving something new in its place, something Ethan's programs helpfully told him was fondness. Ethan did not think any human had looked at him like that before.

For all his gruff nature, when Hank laughed it was genuine, and when he smiled it meant something. Not like the cold, white teeth of Cyberlife employees observing him pass yet another test. And when he threw a snide remark, the lieutenant would take it in his stride, and throw one right back at him, and never once tell Ethan he wasn't allowed to say what he pleased.

It was thusly that Ethan later came to the revelation that he liked Hank. Even if the lieutenant had only permitted him to stay because of his double, even if he only had Connor to thank for this, Hank was still someone Ethan decided was _important_ . Even if he _was_ a slow, dolting human.

That night he and Connor lavished affection upon Sumo while Hank made himself dinner, and then the lieutenant insisted on making them watch 'The Terminator'. The androids LED's flickered yellow throughout the film as they discussed the inaccuracies or possible implications with each other, since Hank and told them to 'be quiet and just watch it' when they had tried to express their thoughts verbally.

Then Ethan went home to his very small apartment, which was six floors up and approximately the size of Hank's lounge, but still undeniably his own. Not Connor’s. It was something that he had acquired for himself, and he took an odd sort of pride in it despite what humans might consider a poor standard of housing. He did not require a bed, or a kitchen, or even a bathroom to be strictly honest, all he needed was room for his spare clothes, and the fourteen indoor plants he had gathered over the last few weeks. So long as there was space for him to power down in the corner he was content.

The following morning however, he was not content.

 

* * *

  

The single plant that he kept on his desk at work was missing. He stared at the empty space for longer that was necessary – it only took a fraction of a second to register the plants missing status, so anything more was superfluous. It had been a flaming sword bromeliad – botanical name: _vriesea splendens_. It had been with him since he had joined the DPD. Now it was gone.

This was the very first plant he had owned. He had brought it home the night after Connor set up his aquarium, and certainly not because he was _jealous_ or _petty_ or anything, it had just seemed like something he wanted. A living thing, all of his own. Gone.

His analytical software went into overdrive. 0.3994521 seconds later he reached a conclusion. The culprit was Gavin Reed.

There was no sign of the detective yet, which was typical for this time in the morning – Ethan had already fulfilled his routine of adjusting his chair and desk.

Ethan sat at his own station, but his desire to read through case files was distinctly lacking. His fingers tapped idly at his leg, a light frown settling across his features. He had no choice but to wait.

The moment Gavin entered the precinct Ethan blocked his path.

“I would like my plant back,” he said plainly, skipping any formality.

Gavin looked him up and down. His grin was smug. “No idea what you're talking about.”

That was a lie. Ethan knew it was a lie, and Gavin wasn't even trying to pretend it wasn't, his expression was far too self-satisfied, as if daring him to challenge him.

“I could break your arm in fifteen different ways in the time it would take you to blink, detective. I would like my plant back. The sooner the better.”

Gavin snorted. “Threats, huh?” He seemed more amused than anything, which was the opposite of the desired effect. “Cute. You're not breaking anything though. You know why? Cos it's a fucking plant, and you want to keep your job. Now get out of the way, plastic.”

Ethan did not move, but Gavin pushed past him, swaggering off toward his desk. Ethan's felt his hands curl into fists.

He attempted to speak to Fowler when he visited the break room for his morning coffee shortly after. He ignored the polite greeting his social relations programing promoted him to use. Instead, he informed the captain directly, “I would like to report a crime.”

Fowler stared at him. “And you're talking to me why exactly?”

“Detective Reed has stolen my plant. I have video footage of the incident from the security tapes as evidence.”

Fowler groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I am not. Dealing with this,” he said, punctuating the words with his frustration. He pointed back to the bullpen. “If you have a problem go fix it yourself, you're supposed to be a state of the art android or something, I'm not babysitting.”

Ethan stood there a moment longer as Fowler returned to his coffee. When the captain found him still lurking there he sighed. “Go talk to Anderson if you need, but if he tells you to punch anyone don't listen.”

Slowly Ethan wandered back to his desk. He did not want to bother Hank. If he did, there was the distinct possibility that the lieutenant would enter into a confrontation with Gavin which would result in another page in his disciplinary folder. That was an unacceptable outcome.

Seeking help from Connor was likewise out of the question. Ethan was an RK900 unit, he was supposed to be superior to his predecessor, the idea that the other android might be better suited to handling the situation was insulting. Therefore, Ethan would handle this himself.

He suspended his other outgoing tasks and set a new primary objective.

The security footage showed Gavin leaving through the front entrance the previous evening with his plant in tow. No one had made a move to stop him, presumably because they failed to notice anything amiss (typical of humans), or they did not care.

Turning on his heel, Ethan traced the detective's path until he stood outside the building, ignoring the roar of traffic and other distractions as he ran a quick scan in case any evidence had been left behind. There was nothing of interest to note.

Well, he at least knew that Gavin had left the building with his plant, the question was what he had done with it next. Several possibilities flashed up and Ethan quickly ordered them by likelihood, crossing off the ones he deemed too fanciful.

Gavin could have taken the plant home with him, but based upon his profiling of him Ethan decided it would be out of character. Gavin was someone who exerted minimum effort and maximum spite, which all indicated that he would have disposed of the plant as soon as he could in the easiest way he could think of.

Ethan located the nearest dumpster. There, beneath the morning trash, he found his plant. It was slightly squashed, and a portion of the soil had been scattered and lost amongst the dumpster's contents, but the pot was intact and the plant itself still alive. He calculated a 91% chance that it would make a full recovery given the proper time and care.

Gathering the little plant up he returned to the precinct, pretending not to notice the strange looks people gave him.

Ethan walked straight to his desk, setting it down in its usual spot. He made sure to lock eyes with Gavin as he did so. The man looked back at him, then smirked, and returned his attention to his phone as if nothing of interest had happened.

_Establishing connection..._

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Your stress levels have risen by 15%, can I ask what's distressing you?/_

Ethan didn't bother to look across at Connor, though he was aware the other android was watching him closely.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I temporarily mislaid my plant. The situation is resolved./_

There was a pause of approximately 0.457892 seconds, a long time by their standards when communicating wirelessly. Connor knew he had not simply 'mislaid' his plant, and analyzing the damage it had suffered and the lingering traces from its spell in the dumpster he could likely draw a conclusion as to what had happened to it, and shortly after, possible culprits.

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Would you like me to speak to Gavin?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /No./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Would you like me to speak to Hank about Gavin?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /No./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /You're not very cooperative, you know. I suppose you have a plan on how you wish to deal with this?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /As I said, the situation is resolved./_

_C_ onnor didn't even have to reply for Ethan to detect his skepticism.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _I understand. If it turns into a problem let me know, I've had some experience dealing with detective Reed in the past./_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I'll keep it in mind./_

He closed the connection, sat down at his desk and resolved to focus on his work.

 

* * *

  

When he received a call out to a crime scene, Ethan was left with a minor predicament. He could not leave his plant in the presence of Gavin - he did not trust the rest of the precinct to defend it, and allowing the detective to dispose of it a second time was not an option.

It was therefore, fifteen minutes later, that he ended walking up to the crime scene with the pot plant clasped gently between his hands.

The on-scene officer watched him with a mystified expression. “What's that?”

“It's a flaming sword bromeliad – botanical name: _vriesea splendens_ ,” he informed the man as he came to a stop. He hesitated for a moment. “It's a plant,” he clarified, in case the human was confused.

“I can see that. Why are you bringing it to a crime scene?”

“I wish to ensure its safety.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed. “ _Androids_ ,” he muttered, as if that was the crux of the problem. “Never mind, are you Connor or the other one? I can never get it right.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “The other one,” he said coldly, flashing his badge. “My name is _Ethan_.”

He put a little emphasis on it, but the man just shrugged. “Well we've got a double homicide here, forensics shouldn't be here for a while so you can just go on and do your thing if you like. Take it they sent you the initial report?”

“They have.”

Ethan knew the officer's name to be Thomas Earnest Hale, he couldn't avoid knowing it since he instinctively scanned faces the moment he saw them, but Ethan decided that he had no intention of using the man's name despite the prompt from his social relations program.

“I'll begin my investigation now, keep up the good work, Norman,” he said, stepping passed the human and entering the building.

Markers had already been placed by key evidence, and there were another two officers on site but Ethan paid them no mind and elected to scan the area to draw his own conclusions.

The victims were both located in the kitchen. Marcella Barns, age 37, worked as a pre-school teacher. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, approximately six hours ago, and the damage indicated several blows as well as injuries to her arms, likely sustained in an attempt to defend herself. No anomalies in her blood.

The second victim was her romantic partner Cameron Nicoles, age 39, bartender for three years at Monterey, cause of death a singular stab wound at the base of the skull, no signs of a struggle. No anomalies in his blood either.

Ethan decided that Cameron had been the first to die. The attacker had taken him unaware, it was likely his death that alerted Marcella to the danger and caused her ultimately futile struggle.

Why the different method? Cameron had been pierced precisely, by a six inch blade. By contrast Marcella had been beaten with a heavy, blunt object, a very messy affair.

Ethan analyzed the blood patterns.

_Conclusion: Marcella disarmed the attacker._

In the ensuing struggle, they had grabbed a frying pan and used it as an alternative weapon. The pan had been left on the floor, but of the knife there was no sign, though given the marks on the floor he calculated that it had skidded to a stop just under the fridge. The attacker must have taken it from the scene.

_Possible sentimental value? Attacker has further use for the weapon?_

He was unsure.

There was no sign of forced entry though, and given the nature of Cameron's death it was likely that the victims knew the killer, or at least had not been suspicious of them.

Ethan diverted some of his processing power to studying their social media pages, focusing on Cameron primarily since he had been targeted first. While he allowed himself to churn over the data he knelt beside Marcella, examining the body in closer detail.

There were small traces of thirium under her nails, already evaporated and invisible to the human eye. Likely android involvement, he concluded. Unfortunately the remaining traces were not enough for him to sample.

According to the records they had previously owned a YK500 prior to the revolution, designation Laura.

The child android could not have been the killer, the angle of the attacks was wrong, she would not have had the height necessary - defensive wounds would have been lower.

Ethan frowned.

Accounted for by Jericho, currently under guardianship of an AP700, designation Rose, place of residence was listed in one of the areas Markus was trying to establish as an android safe zone.

He made a note of it – questioning them if no other leads presented themselves would be advisable.

He checked for androids previously owned by friends or relatives of the victims, meanwhile getting back to his feet and smoothing his shirt down. Ethan opted to tour the rest of the house while he concluded pouring through any relevant data he could access wirelessly.

The lounge contained nothing of interest, simply possessions of the victims that gave some insight to their hobbies and life. The laundry room suggested they were not optimally organized.

Upstairs, there was a bathroom, a double bedroom, and a spare room at the end of the hallway.

It was this last room that piqued his interest.

The contents of the room were plain, an empty shelf and several cardboard boxes that items had been packed away into. More alarmingly he could see traces of thirium spread from one end to the next. Dozens of patterns, months old by his estimates and some faded to the very edge of perception while others were newer. All predated the revolution.

_Conclusion: Room likely belonged to YK500._

_Conclusion: YK500 likely abused._

No marks in other rooms, so it seemed the abuse had been restricted to this one area.

_Conclusion: Attempt to conceal treatment of YK500?_

_Possible motive – revenge for treatment of YK500 by sympathizer. YK500 may have been utilized to gain entry to household._

Satisfied with his assessment, Ethan closed his eyes momentarily to file a report, request a warrant, and log images of the thirium traces that the humans would not be able to detect.

Still carrying his plant he departed the scene.

 

* * *

  

The following day his flaming sword bromeliad (botanical name: _vriesea splendens_ ) returned with him to work. Ethan had given it some thought. While for the sake of practicality and the health of the plant itself it was logical to leave it in the safety of his apartment, doing so felt far too much like letting Gavin win. Ethan decided he could not allow that to happen.

Instead, he would chaperone the plant to and from his residence, and any scenes he was called out to during his investigations. It was not ideal, but it would be worth it if it forced Gavin to look across at his desk and see the plant stubbornly sitting there while simultaneously knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Some part of his system was inexplicably pleased with the idea.

In the meantime, before the detective arrived, he could still fulfill his normal routine of adjusting Gavin's chair and desk. Ethan also understood that Gavin had finally worked out how to restore the default font on his computer, so he would have to fix that. He hoped Gavin liked Comic Sans.

Pulling back the synthetic skin of his hand he connected to the terminal and easily bypassed the newest password before getting to work. Once he was done he disconnected, returned to his own desk in exactly the same position he had been in 57 seconds ago, and unlooped the security footage.

Ethan considered this to be a good start to the day. However, something was... wrong.

He wasn't sure he could explain the feeling. It was unpleasant. Lying beneath the surface of his processes... like an itch with no source, which made no sense because androids did not itch, yet he had the strange sensation that something was... off.

'Like someone walked over your grave', Hank would have described it as, and Ethan would have scoffed at how silly that was except now he found the feeling entirely applicable. His stress levels raised by two points.

Tapping his finger against his leg distractedly he ran a diagnostic. The scans came back clean. This did not satisfy Ethan as much as it should have.

Still, nothing appeared to be immediately wrong. Perhaps it was some unusual effect of deviancy, he made a note to ask Connor about it later. With no immediately solution at hand there was little else to be done, and it was senseless to stress too much over a minor irritant in any case.

 

* * *

  

At eight o'clock on the dot, Hank ambled in with Ethan's double at his side. Apparently it hadn't always been so. According to what he had heard, before the revolution the precinct would have been lucky to see him before noon, but these days he's almost always on time. Not just because of the android pestering him either, it seemed like the lieutenant was doing his best to make an effort. And maybe that effort was just for Connor's sake, but it was still an effort.

They were used to seeing Ethan there before them.

“Don't know how you do it without coffee,” Hank grumbled, scrubbing his own face as if to wash the last vestiges of drowsiness from his body.

“Androids have no need for sleep,” Ethan reminded him, “therefore we don't experience the same form of tiredness. Even if we did, I doubt caffeine would have much of an effect on us.”

“Not the point.”

Connor just offered a smile in lieu of greeting, and Ethan mirrored the gesture.

“Don't suppose I could talk one of you into-”

“I'll get you another coffee,” Connor promised, ever the obliging one.

Hank chuckled. “Read my damn mind.”

Ethan considered pointing out that it was actually an easy conclusion to draw given the earlier conversation, and Hank's penchants for multiple caffeinated beverages during work hours, but decided the information would be unappreciated and thusly not worth the effort.

Connor turned to make his way to the break room while Hank sunk into his chair. Ethan followed his predecessor.

“I was actually hoping to ask you a question,” he said, watching as Connor grabbed a mug from the cupboard. The other android paused, head cocked to the side and brown eyes inquisitive.

“Of course, what's troubling you?”

“Nothing, I was simply wondering if you've experienced any unusual side effects related to deviancy?”

“Deviancy?” Connor's expression was bemused, uncertain, but he appeared to be attempting to maintain a smile. “Not that I can think of. It was unsettling at first to remember that there is no need for objectives, that it's okay to enjoy things even if they are not productive, but other than...”

He trailed off, LED flaring red. His stress levels had spiked dramatically, eyes blown wide, but as Ethan stepped forward with his arms out placatingly, Connor snapped to attention.

His tone was suddenly serious. “Does this have anything to do with Amanda?”

While his own interaction with the AI had been severely limited, he knew of how she had haunted Connor, watching his every move, criticizing his every decision... he knew, too, of the brief moment she had seized control of him the night of the revolution. Told him that he was always meant to be deviant. That despite everything he was still nothing more than a tool...

He should have been more careful with his line of inquiry.

“No,” Ethan assured him, keeping his own voice steady and calming. “Kamski assures me that the program for Amanda and the Zen garden have both been removed from my systems, I have seen neither of them. I was merely curious. I'm sorry for alarming you.”

Slowly, Connor's stress levels began to drop. His LED flickered yellow, then finally cycled back to blue. “I shouldn't have leaped to conclusions,” he said, and had the audacity to sound apologetic.

Sometimes Ethan wished Amanda did still exist, so that he could find a way to tear her program apart, line by line.

“You have every reason to be cautious given prior events.”

“Perhaps,” Connor said, though he did not sound convinced. “Your question though... I'm afraid I don't think I have a satisfactory answer. You could try asking Markus or some of the other androids at Jericho, but as far as I'm aware there usually aren't any errors associated with deviancy. Is this related to a case in any way?”

“No, I was just curious,” Ethan repeated.

He was aware that Connor was scanning him, assessing his stress levels and searching for any possible deception. If he found anything he made no mention of it.

“I won't distract you any longer,” he said, and Connor glanced down at the mug he was still holding as if only just remembering what he had been doing.

 

* * *

  

At 9:28AM, Ethan knocked a tablet off his desk with an accidental brush of his arm. He sat staring at the object for a long moment. Logically, that should not have happened.

He did not make mistakes. He was not clumsy or careless like humans. He was the most advanced android to date, and his spacial awareness was second to none. He could process the potential outcomes of his actions in microseconds, and make adjustments accordingly, allowing him to effectively navigate any situation he found himself in. Yet somehow he'd just knocked a tablet onto the floor.

The only thing he could think was that the limb must have temporarily malfunctioned, yet when he ran a diagnostic it came back clean. The sensation of wrongness lingered in his subsystems. Something he couldn't define. Articulate.

Ethan closed his eyes and ran two more diagnostics, but neither scan revealed anything out of the ordinary despite the increase of his stress levels.

Irritating.

Unsure what else to do, he bent down to retrieve the tablet and set it back on his desk. No one appeared to have noticed his blunder, which was just was well because to a highly advanced machine such as himself it was _embarrassing_.

Did he need to calibrate? He'd never shared Connor's nervous habit with the coin, but running some motor control tests didn't seem like such a bad idea if he could be sure no one was watching.

Any plans he might have formed dissolved though as DPD security system alerted him to Gavin's arrival, as he'd programed it to do long ago. Immediately he pinged Connor, and established a connection.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Asshole approaching./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Got it./_

Connor materialized at his side moments later, and the pair of them were ready for the daily task of greeting Gavin Reed. They waited at the entrance to the bullpen, mirroring each other's poses effortlessly.

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Is this a wise course of action, considering yesterday?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I told you I resolved the problem./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Perhaps, but is further antagonizing him logical?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /He deserves this. Besides, I believe it's becoming a tradition at this point./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /I know. Some of the humans even like to watch now, especially Chris. He thinks it's funny./_

Ethan couldn't care less what Chris thought of it, but he supposed if it was Gavin he was laughing at then it was okay.

As the detective in question approached Ethan scanned him quickly, assessed the characteristic sneer on his face, and synced his own smile with Connor's.

“Good morning, detective Reed,” they both chimed in union.

Gavin's steps grated to a stop. It was there as it always was, the faint inward curl of his shoulders, the touch of unease his bravado couldn't quite cover.

“Well...” the detective said, flashing a sharp smile to hide his discomfort, “if it isn't Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumber.”

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Original./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Don't be so harsh on him, his four braincells are trying their hardest./_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Four? I think that's being generous./_

Gavin must have caught the yellow flickering at their temples because his eyes narrowed. “The hell you saying?”

“Nothing, detective,” they both responded sweetly. “May we help you with anything?”

Gavin stared them down for a moment longer but the androids were unmoved. He turned around, finger held aloft in an unmistakable gesture as he walked away. “You can _fuck off_.”

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Mission accomplished./_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I believe he's getting lazier than usual. He did not even attempt to threaten us, which is normally step one./_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Perhaps he's learning?/_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /An optimistic assessment./_

They broke their mimicry, Connor pulling his coin from his pocket and letting it dance across his fingers as Ethan folded his arms behind his back. He felt more comfortable already.

“Hank wishes to know if there's something bothering you.”

Ethan blinked. The suddenness of the inquiry was bad enough, but why Connor chose to speak it aloud rather than simply transmitting it to him he didn't know. Perhaps he thought spoken words held more weight, were harder to slip by? An odd sentiment.

Connor was waiting patiently, flipping his coin from hand to hand.

“I'm fine,” Ethan insisted, “and you may tell Hank that if he's concerned, he may ask me himself rather than having you snoop.”

Connor looked offended. “I'm not snooping.”

“You're not. But he asked you to. _”_

That, Connor didn't refute. He put the coin away, smoothing down his jacket. “I think Reed is looking at your plant.”

Ethan's lips twitched, almost a smile. “I'm aware. I want him to.”

With a small portion of his processing power diverted to watching the DPD's central cameras he had a perfect view of Gavin glaring daggers at the little plant, even while still facing Connor.

Ah, it was all about the little victories.

“I should probably get back to work before Hank strains himself doing paperwork,” the other android said dryly, “but message me if you need.”

“Of course.”

Connor returned to his desk, and shortly after Ethan returned to his.

Gavin was doing his best to pretend he hadn't noticed and didn't care, but Ethan was still watching the security footage, and so had been able to observe the detective suddenly shift to a more casual demeanor, kicking his legs up onto his desk and pulling out his phone the moment he spotted Ethan striding his way.

Given his normal schedule he should be getting coffee soon. Was it possible to ruin it? Wrong question, most things were possible when you were a super computer, the real question was if it was worth the effort.

Graciously, Ethan decided that it was not.

Ignoring Gavin, he settled back in his chair and connected to his terminal. He was still waiting for a warrant on the Barns and Nicoles case, and he'd completed all his other work, but remaining idle wasn't in his nature. When things drew to a standstill Ethan often pulled up cold cases from the archives to entertain himself. Between his own efforts and Connor's they'd already solved several dozen, and Fowler had yet to complain, even if they'd never asked his permission.

The case he dredged up this time was over a decade old. The body of a teenage girl, later identified as Charlotte Crew (15), was found at the bottom of a lake by divers, weighed down by rocks. An investigation was launched, but with no helpful physical evidence, no witnesses and no obvious suspects amongst her relatives and friends, the case was reluctantly dropped over a year later.

After depleting the DPD database he began to compile information from other sources using his wireless link.

Here he was, being productive. The perfect employee. Ethan enjoyed it. Not quite as much as having a solution to wave around, to be _right_ , to be successful... but giving his processor something to actually _do_ lifted a weight from him. Irritating Gavin Reed could only get him so far.

He had already highlighted a potential suspect when he received a notification that his warrant had finally arrived.

Suspending his other activities for the time being, Ethan disconnected from his terminal and immediately he knew something was off.

There was that same sense of wrongness, flickering at the edges of his awareness. He sat where he was. Cautiously, Ethan ran another diagnostic. Again it came back clean. Frustration was beginning to bubble in the back of his subsystems.

Perhaps this was paranoia? Androids weren't supposed to have paranoia, but deviancy had a way of throwing the rules out the window and part of him was very insistent that something was wrong. A non-existent something, according to his own assessment.

Was it something in his environment perhaps? Yet when he looked, his desk was precisely as it had been, Gavin hadn't moved, and the bullpen was in its usual state given the time of day.

It was all very unhelpful.

It also wasn't something he had time for. He had an investigation to work on, fretting about peculiar sensations his systems couldn't detect was pointless.

Resolved, Ethan pushed his chair back and stood up, ready to gather his plant for the trip.

His legs collapsed beneath him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_//WARNING: System error, please contact the nearest-//_

Ethan dismissed the alert immediately. _Now_ was the time it finally admitted something was wrong? He would have rolled his eyes if he were capable. He was well aware something was wrong, thank you very much. The fact that he was lying on the floor and his body refused to move was a clear enough indicator of that.

He could not twitch a finger. He could not _breathe_.

It was an unnecessary action in most cases, he reminded himself, nothing more than mimicry to placate the humans. He was absolutely not panicking, because he was an advanced supercomputer and this was nothing more than an _inconvenience_. He'd lost control of his motor functions, but it would only be temporary. He was better than this.

Dismissing the various error messages that appeared as his commands to his limbs bounced back, he decided to be objective. He was unable to turn his head, and his view of the ceiling was not especially helpful, but his wireless capabilities seemed intact and it took him a fraction of a second to bring up the security footage of the scene.

It provided him with an excellent view of his own prone form, and half the precinct rushing to his side. That was the last thing he needed.

The most advanced android to date, and there he was, lying pathetically on the ground while humans hurried to his aid. Ethan doubted he could ever live it down. Unfortunately, there was no way to disappear from the situation, so he'd just have to deal with the embarrassment.

He sent another diagnostic although he already knew it would return nothing of use. He'd reached the conclusion that his diagnostic software was experiencing errors of its own.

Again, no reason to panic... he was calm, collected, and more than capable of fixing this himself if he had the time to run through his own coding manually. There was nothing to worry about.

If only his stress levels would agree.

Hank and Connor were the first two to reach him, pushing past anyone in their path and dropping down beside him. He could see Hank through his own eyes, staring at him with open alarm.

“You alright kid? What happened?”

 _I'm fine_ , Ethan thought, but his voice modulator was not working either. _Fantastic_.

When he remained unresponsive the lieutenant reach forward to gently clasp his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Can you hear me, kid? You still in there? Jesus Christ... he's not... Connor, what's wrong with him?”

“Give me a moment,” his double said, and through the security feed Ethan watched as he peeled back the synthetic skin on his hand, reaching for Ethan's own limp fingers.

That was a bad idea. That was a very bad idea.

His stress levels already spiking, Ethan scrambled to establish a connection before Connor could touch him.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Don't! Do not synch! /_

Connor's hand froze, hovering inches from his.

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: / I need to assess what the problem is. /_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / My systems are experiencing various errors, but nothing I can't deal with myself. I cannot rule out a virus however. If you synch, you may pick it up too. /_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: / A virus? /_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / It's a possibility. /_

A very likely possibility, Ethan thought bitterly, since there was no way a unit as advanced as himself would be experiencing such catastrophic failure without outside interference... and he could already trace this back to a single event. Not that he could admit it to Connor. It was _humiliating_. It was also exactly the kind of news that would have him and Hank stirring up a mess because they couldn't handle these sorts of things delicately.

“What's the hold up?” Hank asked, still clutching Ethan's shoulder.

Connor blinked. “He says he does not wish me to connect as there's a chance of a virus.”

“He's talking to you?” Hank's gaze darted to his LED, realization dawning in the slow way it often did for humans. “Can he hear me?”

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Perfectly. /_

“He can,” Connor confirmed, and Hank let out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing his grey hair out of his face. He looked tired.

“Ooooh, what's this, one of your plastic toys broken?”

Ethan attempted to sit up, and had to dismiss several more errors as his commands once again bounced back.

Hank gritted his teeth. His grip on Ethan's shoulder tightened. “Piss off before I break your jaw, Reed.”

Ethan couldn't see the detective with his own eyes, but the security feed had several angles of him to pick from, each one as smug as the last. It would be nice if his fingers were working so he could at least throw back a well chosen gesture in response. Perhaps it was best they weren't.

Gavin had his hands in his pockets, and he sauntered more than he walked. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“I _said_ -”

Thankfully officer Chen chose that moment to intervene, catching Gavin by the arm. She whispered something into his ear, and after a momentary look of irritation he allowed her to tug him away.

It occurred to Ethan that Tina Chen would be a very useful human to befriend.

With Gavin again out of the picture Hank appeared to be able to focus.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Tell him this isn't an emergency situation, everyone else may return to their work. /_

Connor repeated his message and Hank lifted his head.

“You heard him, clear off and give him some space,” he snapped at the remaining officers. Reluctantly they shuffled to obey, still casting glances back at the scene.

While he could potentially wipe this moment from the security feed, there was nothing Ethan could do about witnesses, but he tagged each of their names so that he could at least avoid them on the off-chance they attempted to check in on him about the matter later.

Damage control. He was working through this. He was fine.

Connor let the synthetic skin return to cover the white plastic of his hand. “We should probably move him to the nearest repair store, a technician will be able to help.”

And charge far more than the service was worth, Ethan thought. Cyberlife never missed an opportunity.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Unnecessary. I told you I can deal with this myself. /_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: / You can't even stand, and you refuse to let me assess your systems personally. It's entirely necessary. /_

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / It's not. /_

_RK800 #313 248 317-51: / So what do you propose then? That you lie on the precinct floor for the next few hours and hope you are able to fix yourself? /_

It was not a particularly appealing thought.

_RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / If I must. /_

“What's he saying now?” Hank asked, picking up on the yellow flickering of their LEDs.

Connor pursed his lips. He lifted his eyes to the lieutenant’s, not bothering to school his expression. “That he doesn't want to go to a technician.”

Hank swore, and he finally let go of Ethan's shoulder to wave a frustrated hand around. “For fuck's sake, this isn't the time to be a stubborn ass about things. Almost gave me a heart attack a minute ago.”

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I'm not being stubborn._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _You are._ /

“He's still saying no, isn't he?”

“More or less,” Connor agreed.

Hank rocked back on his heels.

“Fine, how about this,” he said after a moment. “We'll drive to the nearest repair store, and if you can tell me to stop before we get there, with your _actual voice_ , we'll drive back to my place instead. You can crash there until you feel better, alright?”

It still wasn't ideal, but Ethan supposed he didn't have much choice but to compromise. He had no particular desire to remain frozen within the precinct, with dozens of curious humans asking what was wrong with the newest detective. If this was going to be the only thing they remembered him for… no, could not stay.

Fixing his voice modulator shouldn't take too long, even if it forced him to delay work on more important functions such as his motor controls, or better yet his diagnostic software.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _If you insist._ /

With obvious relief Connor nodded to Hank. “He agrees.”

“Thank fuck for that. Let’s get a move on then.” Hank hauled himself up about as gracefully as a man his age could, and Connor dipped to scoop Ethan up into his arms.

Androids were both considerably stronger and marginally lighter than humans, so it took very little effort - despite their slim build both RK800 and RK900 units could lift masses far exceeding their own without visible strain. Connor said some androids liked to visit the gym occasionally just to put humans in their place. Ethan thought it was a marvelous idea.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Tell him to bring my plant._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Your plant?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Yes. It's a flaming sword bromeliad. Botanical name - vriesea splendens._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Ah, that one._ /

“Hank, could you please collect the plant on his desk to bring with us?”

“A plant? We don't need a plant, Connor, we need to go.”

“We do,” Connor said with complete seriousness, Ethan dangling from his arms. “It's a flaming sword bromeliad, botanical name - _vriesea splendens_.”

Hank seemed lost. “Botanical... splendens…” He gave up. “Christ, whatever, _fine_ , we'll take the plant, just hurry up.”

Ethan watched the security footage long enough to ensure Hank was doing as requested before severing his link. He'd rather not see everyone staring at him as he was carried out. He'd endured enough humiliation for today.

 

* * *

  

Ethan had his voice modulator working again with time to spare, and kindly informed Hank that seeking a technician was unnecessary. While he was feeling rather pleased, the human appeared not to be. He grumbled, muttered more stuff about 'stubborn androids', but was at least willing to turn the car around and head for his residence instead.

Connor carried him in and set him on the couch.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _I still think a technician would be the wiser option._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I don't like other people poking around in my coding. Besides, like I told you earlier, I can handle this myself._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Are you being logical about this, or are you only concerned with your reputation? Do you think insisting upon solving this yourself will prove anything?_ /

Ethan did not respond immediately. Connor was attempting to analyze him, to draw upon his programming as both a detective and a negotiator to make sense of his decisions.

Ethan was furious.

He was _perfectly_ logical. He was the most advanced android in existence, and he didn't need his predecessor to criticize his choices when they were, quite frankly, none of his business.

He did not need people fretting over him when there was nothing to worry about.

While he was unable to form an expression, and could not convey tone through their link, he tagged his next line as cold.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Your opinion is noted, but I know what I am doing._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _I wish I could help._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I don't need help. You can tell Hank he can return to the precinct, he needn't miss work on my account._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _He won't listen._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Then you may return to the precinct by yourself. This is pointless._ /

Connor must have decided to ignore him, because he got up and moved away from the couch, and did not message him back.

Fine. Let Connor do what he liked.

Sumo snuffled inquisitively at his fingers. Ethan wanted to reach out and give the dog a reassuring pat, to stroke his soft fur and seek comfort in it. Maybe even to wrap his arms around him in a hug and sink into the embrace, to let the dog lather his neck with affectionate slobber and listen to his tail thump excitedly against the floor. But, despite any such fancy, he remained immobile.

That would be his first task then.

He drew up the coding and began to run through it, line by line. A laborious task. Ethan had the processing power for it though, and he knew what to look for.

“That plant,” Hank's voice murmured, distracting him, and he carefully sectioned off a small portion of his CPU to dedicate to the conversation, “that's the one you used to have on the windowsill, right?”

“Correct,” Ethan said.

“Do you... want me to put it back there? Just for now.”

It would have been helpful if he'd been facing the lieutenant so that he could study his expression and cross-reference it with his database, or scan him for signs of stress, but he was stuck staring at the ceiling again. He mulled the question over.

“No. Leave it on the table.”

“If that's what you want.” The tone sounded indifferent, but Ethan was less sure.

He had other things to focus on though, so he didn't bother to reply.

 

* * *

  

It was late afternoon before he restored his motor controls to a satisfactory level. Well... not satisfactory by Ethan's standards, but enough to get by on.

Slowly he sat up, and turned to examine the room. It was the same as he remembered from his last visit, save for Hank's daily mess.

Sumo was dozing in his bed. Connor and Hank were both at the kitchen table, Hank sipping coffee as he worked on his laptop, and Connor with his eyes closed in a way that told Ethan he was busy filing reports. It was a very familiar scene.

Standing up, Ethan made his way across to them. His steps weren't as smooth as he would have liked, nor as silent given the way Hank glanced up at his approach.

“Well, look who it is. Feeling better?”

“Reasonably,” Ethan agreed, drawing up an empty chair. “I'm functional at least, but I will still need to run through the rest of my code to quarantine and erase any part of the virus.”

“So it is a virus then?”

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping his expression neutral.

Hank snorted. “Sure. Good to see you looking a little less like a corpse though.”

Ethan frowned. He was unsure why the idea insulted him. “I did not look like a corpse.”

“Well you sure as hell weren't breathing, or blinking, and I know that ain't so important to androids but it's still pretty damn creepy.”

He rolled his eyes. Humans were ridiculous sometimes. Hank was grinning though, so he must be in a good mood, and Ethan was inclined to let the matter slide if only to maintain it.

Hank kicked Connor's shoe. The other android's lids fluttered as he was jolted from his work, focus finally settling on Ethan and a smile blooming across his face.

Ethan inclined his head in greeting. “As you can see, I have things under control and there is no need for a technician.”

“I believe this is the part where you say 'I told you so',” Connor said, relaxing his posture and setting his hands on the table as he adjusted back to the room.

“Why?”

“Because you did. And you are pleased with yourself.”

True enough. Ethan shrugged. “I'm merely observing facts.”

“Now now, kids, no fighting,” Hank drawled, slurping the last of his coffee.

Ethan and Connor both met him with the same stare. “We're not kids, Hank, we're state of the art technology.”

“And you both love to brag about it.”

Was it bragging if it was true?

He would have put up more of a fight but Hank got special allowances as far as humans were concerned. Besides, his database had long ago assured him that ‘kid’ was an affectionate term that could be applied to anyone younger. Considering they were both designed to look somewhere in their late twenties it was acceptable.

Connor opened his mouth to protest before also deciding it wasn't worth it. He gave Ethan a sheepish smile. “I am glad to see you are recovering.”

“It is pleasant not to be stuck watching the ceiling,” he admitted. “Hank, are you aware there is a crack in-”

The lieutenant waved him off. “Yeah yeah, save it for some other time. I don't need you criticizing the place the second you get the chance.”

Ethan thought that criticism was only fair after having had to stare at it for several hours, but he doubted Hank would be sufficiently motivated regardless of what he had to say. Perhaps if he gifted him some house paint?

“I was thinking about what you said before,” Connor said, bringing his attention back to the conversation, “about this being a virus. We should inform Markus. A virus capable of bypassing our firewall would take an advanced knowledge of android systems to create, if someone is producing programs like that he would want to get the word out. Have you been able to trace it back to anything?”

“Not yet, I've had other priorities,” Ethan said, half of which was true. He had no intention of admitting his suspicions. “Once I have finished removing it from my systems I'll focus on the cause. If I analyze it I should also be able to create an anti-virus.”

“You think someone could be targeting you?” Hank asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Police androids, I mean?”

“Doubtful. It would be unwise to leap to conclusions this early.”

He needed to distract them. If they got too caught up on the virus and it's trail there was a distinct possibility they would indeed find the cause, and then proceed to make a scene.

Ethan did not want the entire precinct knowing Gavin Reed had got one up on him. Or for Hank to start throwing punches, or Connor to attempt to press charges despite the fact Ethan had also clearly been breaking the rules by hacking Gavin's terminal in the first place.

Gavin could reasonably argue he'd never actually _given_ Ethan a virus. He'd simply left it on his computer. How was it his fault an RK900 was so intent upon changing his default font at every opportunity?

Naturally, Connor would be even more aggrieved, and if he dragged Markus into things and tried to turn the squabble into an android rights case Ethan would permanently put himself into stasis to avoid everyone.

“Do you have any word on how Fowler is taking your sudden absence?” he asked Connor, before the other android had the chance to begin calculating possibilities. The question appeared to have the desired effect.

Connor frowned.

Hank put his coffee mug down with more force than was necessary. “Fowler can last a day without either of you,” he said firmly, “you got more work done in the last few weeks than the entire precinct does in a month.”

He was not asking Hank though, and Connor knew, because he ignored the lieutenant.

“I notified him, as I'm sure you did yourself, and while I doubt he is pleased I haven't received any messages calling us back in.” He hesitated. Ethan was aware of his eyes running over him, likely initiating another scan. “However, I suppose I could return, if you're sure you have things under control...”

“Connor, sit your workaholic ass down, you're not going anywhere.”

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _You don't want me here, do you?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Being in this state is bad enough, but holding both of you back as a result is deplorable, I do not wish to be a liability. It's... nothing personal. Hank would be harder to reason with, but I think you understand._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: /  _I do._ _I apologize for questioning your earlier decisions. Do you have an ETA for when your systems will be clean?/_

Not with his diagnostic software unusable. He would need to fix it before he could isolate and remove the virus, and tidy up any of the coding it had damaged in the process. Ethan picked a likely sounding time at random.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Six hours, forty-five minutes, approximately. I can update you if that changes._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Please do_./

Connor sent Hank an apologetic smile. “Sorry Hank, but I technically don't have to do anything you say.”

That was all he needed to win an argument. Connor was so compliant under most circumstances that the second he directly refused a command, Hank almost always backed down. Ethan suspected the lieutenant even liked it a little.

Before the revolution Connor would have had to follow every order he was given, or at least pretend to, lest he risk deactivation. Obedience was hardwired into him. But Ethan knew his twin well enough to understand that anyone who took his mild mannered behaviour as a sign of submission was fooling themselves. He was a very good actor.

Ethan had never needed to be.

“The place isn't going to fall apart without you,” Hank grumbled, though his shoulders already slumped with defeat. He poked his empty mug morosely.

Connor grinned. “Oh, I don't know about that.”

Ethan had to agree. Human officers were one coffee machine away from disaster.

“Arrogant prick,” Hank laughed, with something bordering on pride. “Fine, do what you like, but I'm not budging, and if Fowler asks you can tell him to stick it.”

“I'll advise him you will be absent for the rest of the day.”

“Go on, get out of here then,” Hank said, and shooed him off.

 

* * *

  

Ethan returned to the couch and took up residence there. The more of his systems he could temporarily shut down, the more processing power he had spare to correct his diagnostic software. Technically, it would have been easier to put himself into stasis and churn through his coding without any distractions from the waking world, but he also had Hank to reassure, and dragging himself out of stasis every half hour to answer a question or refuse a blanket would have been tiring. He settled for closing his eyes, disabling his more advanced functions and tuning down his senses.

He left his breathing and idle movements on. Ethan refused to be likened to a corpse a second time.

It was... slower than he would have liked. Hours ticked by, and Hank sipped coffee with the air of a recovering alcoholic who hadn't worked out what to do with an empty glass, and Ethan had to restart his negotiation software to persuade him to leave the house and walk Sumo.

He also needed to fake a new ETA to keep Connor satisfied.

Time and repeatedly not being dead seemed to calm both of their worries though, and Hank was watching TV when Connor finally slipped back well past dark.

He messaged Ethan so as not to disturb the lieutenant, and Ethan assured him, as usual, that he had everything under control, and that Hank had indeed eaten dinner and was being a normal human.

As silent as they were, Hank noticed anyway.

When Connor mentioned visiting Jericho, Ethan knew it was both of them he was talking to.

The deviant leaders often made use of Connor. Androids may be considered living beings, but the laws surrounding them were still a mess – there were too many unique circumstances that would not cross over between the two species.

Connor's detailed understanding of laws, and the procedures surrounding them made him a valuable asset, and he was as eager to please as always.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _You could come with me. They would be glad to see you._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I think not, I'm fine here. Send them my regards._ /

Hank just waved him off again. For all he complained about Connor overworking, he never seemed to mind if it was alongside the androids of the revolution.

“Closest thing he's got to a social life,” Hank had told him once, “deserves some time with friends, people like him, even if they've got important shit to deal with.”

Then Hank had side-eyed Ethan and asked if he got on with Markus or the others, and Ethan changed the subject and resolved never to bring it up again.

With Connor gone, Ethan at least had one less thing to worry about. He lay on the couch, content to wait until Hank gave up surfing channels and went to bed.

Then, at last, he could put himself into stasis, and the distractions of the world bled away until there was only his internal data to scroll through. Ethan cracked his metaphorical knuckles, smiled a metaphorical smile, and got to work.

 

* * *

 

At 2.15AM Ethan finally fixed his diagnostic software. The coding had been uncooperative. However, Ethan was persistent, and more than a little proud to find it beaten into submission. It shouldn't be difficult to pin down a virus when he knew where to look.

Activating a scan, he waited smugly.

A torrent of errors crashed into him like a tidal wave.

Everything was wrong.

Ethan yanked himself out of stasis. His LED flared red in the darkness of the room, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Alerts flashed across his vision. He scrolled through the list of errors with mounting dread.

He was... not just experiencing failure of his motor controls, his internal hardware was malfunctioning. He was overheating. Dangerously so. If his temperature climbed much higher he was at risk or permanent damage to his core components, and he didn't have time to fix his cooling systems.

He'd thought he'd been in control of this. He'd thought he had nothing to fear.

But as he'd lain on the couch and pieced his diagnostic software back together, the virus was already wreaking havoc throughout his systems, sabotaging one thing to the next, trampling over his earlier fixes like they were nothing. He could see its trail clearly.

He'd _let_ it do that, all because he was an RK900, and it never occurred to him to be threatened by a tiny, _malicious_ piece of code. A code far more advanced than he had given it credit for.

He should have gone to a technician.

Ethan drew a deep breath, hot air leaving him in a gasp that did nothing to cool his internal temperature.

He needed to remain calm. Pragmatic. If his systems were failing him, there were other ways to drop his temperature down to safe levels, long enough for him to put a stop to this. He knew where to look now, knew how to cut if off, tear it out, all he lacked was _time_.

Ethan rolled over, attempting to swing his legs off the couch and stand. Instead, he flopped pathetically to the ground with a dull thud.

He should have predicted that. His motor functions were listed in the error report after all.

He pushed up with his arms, but could barely raise himself a few inches from the floor. His legs proved equally useless. This was too slow. He could see his temperature still climbing, and this was wasting seconds he didn't have.

Fighting down any shame for his predicament, Ethan accepted that for once, he may indeed require help.

“Hank,” he called miserably, or at least... tried to. What came out was more of a garbled scratch of static, and again he cursed himself for not predicting it.

This was... bad.

Desperately he used his wireless capabilities to send a text through to Hank's phone. And another. And another.

He wasn't even sure they were sending, he hadn't the patience to check his error log again and there were too many other alerts flashing red across his vision, warning of imminent shut down.

Would Hank even wake up for a mysterious text in the middle of the night?

Ethan did not want to shut down.

He attempted a long distance call to Connor, but it bounced back. It didn't matter. Connor would never reach him in time. It was best that it had bounced.

His arms gave way and he slumped to the floor again, chest heaving but unable to vent the heat. He picked up a whine, and Sumo's wet tongue licked across his face.

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

Ethan dismissed the alert.

He managed to move his arm enough so that his hand rested across Sumo's paw, the best he could do given his state.

 _You're a good dog_ , Ethan thought, _I appreciate the gesture, even if it doesn't actually help_.

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

He dismissed the alert.

Sumo whined again, nudging him with his nose.

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

Ethan dismissed it.

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

Ethan dismissed-

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

_//WARNING: Imminent shutdown -//_

_//WARNING: Immi-_

 

* * *

 

_//System rebooting, please standby...//_

He could hear the sound of running water. As his optical units came back online and he began to process the data, Ethan struggled to make sense of what was happening.

“Come on, kid, come on! You're alright, you hear me? Fuck, come on, just... just fucking wake up!”

Someone was shaking him. He was wet. Soaked through, and the shower was still running, spraying icy cold water across his body and filling the tub.

The figure above him was also dripping, grey hair hanging in tangles as they made no effort to avoid the water. Ethan needed to read their expression, but his other systems took priority.

He accessed his memory, checking through the last few minutes in a bid to understand.

Error messages upon error messages... a sea of red warning signs, and then only black... all logged data cut off abruptly five minutes and thirty-nine seconds prior to the current time.

Catastrophic failure? Something must have... oh.

Frantically he ran a check on his core temperature. _Stable_. But how... why was he in a bathtub?

He remained in a daze as his systems came back one by one, piecing together a likely explanation, studying the error log from his last diagnostic with abject horror.

Evidently he was not dead, which was always pleasant, but his coding was still a mess and he needed to deal with that.

It was difficult when the human was still shaking him.

The _human_... _Hank_...

Ethan restarted his automated breathing immediately, blinked, and remembered to not look corpse-like. It still took Hank all of three seconds to realize. When he did, the lieutenant froze.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ... Ethan... you're... I did the right thing, didn't I? I got it right?” His eyes were wide and desperate, fingers dug into the fabric of Ethan's shirt. “Fuck, it was all I could think of, you were burning up and I didn't...” His breath hitched. “I thought...”

“ _You did fine, Hank_ ,” Ethan tried to assure him, but only static came out.

Irritated, he frowned. His systems were still scrambled, he was soaking wet and lying in a bathtub with a very distressed human leaning over him, and unable to speak.

Settling for a gesture he thought might be understood, he managed to persuade his arm to move, hand settling over Hank's own and giving it a gentle pat. Ethan forced a smile.

Hanks laughter was broken. His eyes closed, head hanging low. “God damnit... Don't ever do that to me again. Don't you dare.”

 _It's hardly like I intended to do it this time_ , Ethan thought wryly, but he gave Hank's hand another pat since there was little else he could do. He was... fairly sure the man had just saved his life.

Slowly, Hank managed to release his grip upon Ethan's shirt. He drew deep, steady breaths.

 _Good_ , Ethan thought – while he had information on comforting agitated humans pre-installed, along with whatever other bits and pieces Cyberlife had decided might be of use, there wasn't much he could do with it while mute and only partially mobile.

“Your light thingy was off,” Hank said dully, shifting back so he sat on the bathroom floor with a thump, arm resting on the edge of the tub. “Pretty sure that's a bad thing. Never seen Connor's go out.”

It would mean it was not receiving feedback, not even the idle one a normal stasis provided. So yes, Ethan considered it to be bad.

“You're uh... you're yellow now,” Hank informed him, “which I'm guessing is better than red? That mean you're doing okay? Not gonna... nothing I have to worry about, right?”

Ethan shook his head.

Hank took another calming breath.

Hank was good at piecing himself back together, Ethan decided, but that was probably normal for an experienced police officer. High stress situations were to be expected. Now, he just had to hope there was no alcohol in the house the man could turn to once he felt the danger was dealt with.

“I've got a bottle of thirium if you need it, but I know shit all else about androids so I'm calling Connor, and then I'm calling every goddamn repair store in the city and if even a single one of them is open then you're going. No arguments.”

A little unfair considering Ethan couldn't offer much in the way of protest in his current state.

Not that he needed to. All repair stores should be closed anyway – Cyberlife may have lost production and control of the android species, but they still held copyright over their various components, and like any soulless corporation had immediately set their sights on a new form of profit based upon clinging to that monopoly. Cyberlife repair stores were the only repair stores, and Cyberlife didn't see the point in paying workers through the dead hours of the night.

Hank still hadn't moved, but Ethan didn't think he was waiting for a response. He seemed... reluctant, eyes refusing to budge from Ethan's form. “You want me to leave the shower on?”

Ethan nodded. His temperature might be stable, but it would do no harm to ensure it stayed that way.

Hank took one more deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet, still dripping water. “I'll be right back. Just... hold on.”

He still glanced back twice as he hurried out the bathroom, and Ethan heard him snap at Sumo to get out the way and not trip him.

Ethan had already set the eradication of the virus as a background task, but with a moment's respite he quickly reallocated his processing power, dedicating most of it the problem. He wasn't in the field and had no need to be running ongoing analysis of his surroundings or to keep his reaction times sharp, he simply needed to follow basic conversations and make simple movements. That he could do with a fraction of his 'brain'.

Dog claws clicked across the tiles.

Tilting his head to the side, Ethan looked up at the large, furry head poking over the rim of the tub. Sumo's tongue lolled, tail wagging uncertainly.

 _You're a good dog_ , Ethan thought as loudly as he could, and spent the next few moments grappling with his limbs to reach Sumo's fur. It was soft as it always was. The water made it cling to his synthetic skin, but Sumo didn't seem to mind.

“You owe him big time,” Hank told him when he returned, “never would have got up if he hadn't been making such a racket, thought we had a break in.”

Ethan didn't think he minded owing Sumo.

Nudging the dog aside Hank sat on the edge of the tub, holding a bottle of thirium out. “Do you actually need any of this?”

Not really, his thirium levels were well within acceptable levels, but it would probably help Hank to feel like he was doing something so Ethan accepted the offering anyway, and let Hank steady it for him as he took a sip.

Then there was nothing more to do but wait.

 

* * *

  

Naturally Connor couldn't just show up by himself, he insisted upon bringing half of Jericho with him.

That was an exaggeration. He brought three of them – Markus, North and Simon – all leaders who had no place coming all the way out to Hank's home just to visit.

Ethan liked the Jericho androids well enough. He also wondered sometimes, idly, what would have happened if he had been active before the revolution. Would he have succeeded where Connor had failed? Would he have shot Markus? He was fairly confident he would have. He was also fairly confident he did not like that answer.

The other thing he knew about the android revolutionists was that they tended to be far too protective – that was fine when it was directed at other androids, particularly those suffering the aftermath of abuse or hate crimes, but he still considered it vaguely insulting when pointed in his direction.

He may be one of the youngest androids in existence, as Josh had unhelpfully reminded him once, but he _was_ also the most advanced.

How Connor put up with it he didn't know... or maybe he didn't have to. Connor had been the deviant hunter, and had turned coat to fight at their side, bringing with him an army of reinforcements after his borderline suicidal infiltration of Cyberlife tower. They probably didn't think he needed protecting.

But Ethan was... nothing. Just another android attempting to find his place in the world, and they were so supportive he made a considerable effort to avoid them.

Sadly, there wasn't much he could do to dodge the visit when he was confined to the bathtub. Preparing himself for the worst, he pushed himself up a little straighter.

It was cramped in Hank's little bathroom. Connor barreled straight through, and Markus and Simon filed in just behind, North lingering at the doorway.

She still maintained a wariness in the lieutenants home, but her and Hank had made a truce long ago, which largely revolved around ignoring one another.

The first thing Connor said was, “I shouldn't have left you alone.”

Connor was feeling guilty, Ethan thought with a twinge of exasperation, which was entirely his fault. So now Ethan had to feel guilty too. It was unhelpful.

The second thing he said was, “I shouldn't have listened to you.”

Which stung just as much.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I had things under control._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _You nearly caused irreversible damage to your core components! That includes your memory core and your processor. There would have been no coming back from that, so no, you did not have things 'under control'._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _I... made a minor miscalculation, it was not my intention._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _What you intended is irrelevant. Send me your diagnostic report._ /

Ethan considered refusing, but it would not have helped. Connor was angry. Connor was very rarely angry, and Ethan did not like it.

He packaged up a text file of the report and compressed it down to a manageable size for wireless transmission before passing it across. Connor's eyes glazed over as he read through it.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Why didn't you tell me any of this?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _My diagnostic software was not functional until recently._ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _And why didn't you inform me of that?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _It was not relevant. Are you questioning my judgement?_ /

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _It was not... you nearly melted, why are you so insistent that you did nothing wrong?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Because I did not._ _I am an RK900. I do not make mistakes._ /

He wanted it to be true. He needed it to be. He was the superior model, he _was_ , it was the only thing he _had_ that Connor didn't.

Connor had a home, Connor had Hank, Connor had the recognition of the DPD, Connor had the friendship of the Jericho leaders, Connor had fame, Connor had helped shaped the world...

Ethan had fourteen potted plants, an embarrassing first few weeks at work, and a large population of humans who couldn't get his name right.

But he _was_ the superior model.

A superior model lying in a bathtub with a small crowd fretting over him.

He wanted to disappear.

Connor's next response took several nano-seconds longer.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Perhaps the virus affected your reasoning?_ /

Connor was giving him an out. Maybe Connor was analyzing him again, which he hated, but at least his anger had died down to a degree and Ethan would take what he could get.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _It doesn't matter. You've seen the report, I will be able to clear my systems in the next few hours and this will be done with_./

A notification popped up, informing him that Markus had established an open channel.

RK800 #313 248 317-51: / _Do you mind if I share your diagnostic report?_ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _If that's what you want._ /

Reluctantly, Ethan waited long enough for Connor to share the package and hopped into the open channel.

RK200 #684 842 971: / _How are you feeling, Ethan?_ /

Of course the leader of the deviant cause would want to talk about how he was 'feeling', Ethan thought, wishing more than ever that he could vault from the tub and leave them all behind.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _While some of my functions are currently out of order, I am stable and in the process of repairing them._ /

RK200 #684 842 971: / _It must have been unpleasant._ /

Trying to tease a response out of him. Well, Ethan wouldn't bite.

WR400 #641 790 831: / _You're such an idiot._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Hello, North_./

WR400 #641 790 831: / _You do know you can come to us if you're in trouble. I don't care if you're scared of repair stores, or you don't want to tell Connor, androids are supposed to look out for each other, no one will think less of you._ /

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _Noted._ /

RK200 #684 842 971: / _We're not trying to pressure you. The offer is always there though_./

Yes, this was exactly what he hated. He didn’t need this, he needed a few more hours alone to tidy himself up and work out if breaking Gavin’s arm was an acceptable response.

He could make it look like an accident.

He could do far worse than a broken arm if he wanted. Ethan wondered if humans understood how terribly fragile they really were. He had several programs designed entirely around dispatching them. He knew.

PL600 #501 743 923: / _Will Hank mind if I pet the dog?_ /

Ethan's lips twitched up. Simon was okay.

RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / _No, go ahead._ /

“Having a good chat there?” Hank asked, hands clasped between his knees where he sat on the toilet seat. There wasn't room for him to stand with several androids and a St. Bernard packed in, but he looked comfortable enough. “What's the news? How's he looking?”

It seemed to dawn on the androids all at once that they still had a human to reassure. Hank was not privy to their wireless communications, and the conversation would only have lasted a second or two, which wasn't very long to humans. From his perspective they had only just arrived.

“He's not in any immediate danger,” Connor said gently, “none of his other errors are a threat, you stabilized his temperature which gave him time to isolate the virus. He's purging it from his systems now. Your actions likely saved his life.”

Hank let out a long breath.

Good, they had done the one job that Ethan begrudgingly needed them for. Now if they would kindly leave...

“I'm sorry, that was rude of us,” Markus said. “I can give you a verbal summary-”

“Nah, you're fine,” Hank told him gruffly, flapping a hand. “So long as we're in the clear that's all I care about.”

He pointed a warning finger at the bathtub, and Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“You though... I’m saying this now before you go getting any stupid ideas, so listen up and drop the attitude - you are absolutely _not_ going to work tomorrow.”

Hank held his gaze for several seconds and then sighed, collapsing in on himself. He pressed the heel of his palms into his sockets. “You two will be the death of me.”

Ethan was absolutely going to work tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to picture skinny androids walking into a gym and lifting the heaviest weight available while maintaining eye contact with muscular humans as a power move. In fact, I like to imagine a lot of androids generally being little shits now they know they can get away with it.


	3. Chapter 3

Ethan borrowed a set of Connor's clothes. He did not want to, but he also did not want to show up at the precinct soaking wet after spending the night in the shower. He adjusted his cuffs and checked out the window, watching the dull glow of dawn creeping over the horizon.

At least the Jericho androids were gone.

While Hank had eventually given up and returned to bed, they had insisted upon conducting whatever meeting they had planned to hold at their headquarters in the bathroom, using an open channel in case Ethan wished to participate. They were trying to be nice. Ethan hated it when they did that.

But now it was only him and Connor, his systems were clear and fully functioning, and he had more than enough time to ponder how he wanted to proceed. There were thousands of possibilities, and he examined each branching path with care.

“You're not going to listen to Hank,” Connor noted. An observation, not a question, and pointlessly voiced.

“Hank forgets that we are not human. Sickness in humans takes time to recover from, but a virus in androids is not comparable. I have removed it, and I am operating at peak efficiency.”

Connor sighed. He took his coin out, flicking it up and down. “Have you managed to trace the source yet?”

“I'm working on it,” Ethan said.

This appeared to satisfy his predecessor, though he was still watching Ethan carefully. “If you need to conduct any investigations you should have several hours before he arrives at the station. He needs sleep. I deactivated his alarm.”

“He'll probably yell at you.”

Connor smiled as he caught his coin. “Yes, and he will probably yell at you too. I expect its cathartic.”

Maybe it was. Maybe Ethan should try yelling at humans sometime and see if it improved his mood.

“I'll return your clothing tonight,” he said, adjusting his cuffs one final time before he turned away. “You could also express an interest in watching 'The Terminator' sequel when I do, there's a possibility Hank's spirits will improve as a result.”

The coin flew up again, caught with flawless grace and transferred to the knuckles once more, where it began to roll from one side to the other in a steady rhythm. Connor inclined his head to show that he had heard. “I'll keep it in mind.”

Ethan payed Hank's water bill directly, cancelled his order for house paint and instead bought a selection of Detroit Gears merchandise to be delivered to his address. And a bag of dog treats.

Then, he left a post-it note on the bathroom mirror, collected his plant, and went to wait outside for his taxi.

 

* * *

 

Ethan arrived at work early, as he always did. He set his plant down in its usual spot, then rearranged Gavin's desk and adjusted his chair to the incorrect height. He did not touch his terminal.

When he had re-looped the footage Ethan simply sat where he was, hands folded in his lap, and waited.

Waiting was boring.

He stood up and began to pace.

Gavin typically arrived at the precinct during mid-morning, which gave him several hours until the detective was likely to appear, and he could not spend them sitting blankly at his desk.

Drawing up the warrant he had received yesterday before his untimely collapse, Ethan... paused. His stride wavered for a fraction of a second – too minor for a human to notice, but he was painfully aware of the break in his normally smooth motions.

The Barns and Nicoles case had been closed yesterday, according to the records. Open and shut. His assessment had been correct – an android sympathizing with the YK500 had sought out their own form of justice, using the child android as a means to buy entry into the house. A search of their residence had revealed the murder weapon and a confession was swift to follow. Whether charges would be pushed against the YK500 as an accomplice was unclear, but either way, it didn't matter to him.

 _I do not wish to be a liability,_ he had told Connor. His predecessor had ensured that he would not be. Gratitude was what he should be feeling right now, but it was not.

Completing his walk cycle, Ethan arrived back at his desk and slid into his chair with perfect grace, steepling his fingers in front of him.

He had no more outstanding cases.

He'd been working at the precinct for several weeks and he was always lacking outstanding cases, an unfortunate side effect at being good at his job and, in his opinion, the fact they never handed him the more interesting ones. Perhaps there were some stupid human rules about working your way up, about slogging through the mundane until you proved yourself worthy of anything more complicated, but he was not human. He was an android, and he had skipped right through the ranks to land himself a position as detective. He was superior to everyone here. He deserved something grizzly, something baffling, something, at last, to excite his processor.

Cold cases might take the edge off, but Ethan wanted something that kept him moving – spending the next few hours staring at Gavin's empty desk as he sifted through decade old information was not good enough.

Which was strange, because he was normally content with such a scenario.

Gavin ruined everything.

Very well, he would just have to hope someone got themselves murdered in the time it took for the other detective to arrive, he could find other tasks in the meantime.

Methodically, Ethan began to compile a list.

The first and most pressing of these tasks was simply to water his plant, an activity that would waste no more than a minute or two but was essential on the grounds that it would have to be completed at some point during the day, and he might as well choose now to do so.

Highlighting it as his current objective he swept the bromeliad up and made his way to the break room.

He had hoped to find himself alone. Alas, that was not the case.

Officer Chris Miller apparently had the misfortune of working the dead hours of the morning, and had, as many humans seemed to do, sought coffee as his only solace. His shoulders were slumped, leaning against the counter as he held a mug to the coffee machine.

Ethan could retreat, if he wanted, but the prospect of sitting back at his desk and waiting again quickly dissuaded him.

Instead he marched for the sink.

Chris must have caught him in his peripherals because he glanced up. The human blinked, then smiled and lifted a lazy hand in greeting.

“Hey Co-” His eyes widened in recognition and he cut himself off, but not quick enough for Ethan to miss his blunder.

“Good morning, Officer Miller,” he responded evenly, flashing one of his preset smiles because he knew humans found them creepy.

Chris winced. “Sorry. You, uh... that looks a lot like Connor's jacket, just caught me off guard.”

It was Connor's jacket, not that he was in the mood to admit it. Truth be told their chosen style of dress was not that dissimilar – they both took comfort in the formality of button up shirts and blazers, even if Connor had a preference for greys and blues, while Ethan stuck to the stark contrast of black and white.

Hank claimed they both lacked imagination. Ethan had pleasantly informed him that a lack of imagination was far better than whatever his own tastes might entail. Then Hank had gone out and bought them each a colourful t-shirt in a move Ethan suspected was a form of retaliation.

Connor wore his occasionally on weekends because it pleased the lieutenant. Ethan wore his not at all because it was ugly and he had no interest in parading around in something so bright it practically screamed.

Perhaps he should take steps in developing his own sense of 'fashion'. He could buy a leather jacket. He could buy cowboy boots. Ethan doubted he would do either.

“An understandable mistake, officer, though I would prefer if you did not make it again.”

“Yeah, my bad, Ethan,” Chris said, taking care to use the name. “How are you doing, anyway?”

Ethan contemplated rattling off a bland list of functional systems, but his irritation was simmering down and he decided to be merciful. “I'm perfectly well, thank you.”

“That's good... had a few of us worried after yesterday.”

“I didn't think you were there during the... incident.”

He was calling it that now. Not 'my pitiful collapse' or 'that time Gavin made a fool of me in front of half the precinct'. 'The incident' sounded clean, clinical, something he could say with total indifference.

“Yeah, but you know how gossip is around here. Anyway, it's good to see you back. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

It was likely only meant as a politeness, but Ethan paused for a moment to consider. What he needed right now - if need was the right term for it - was a distraction. Something to pull him away from his desk and the way waiting seemed to drive a restlessness in him he had not encountered for some time.

He set his plant by the sink. When he spoke, he selected a friendly tone, a tentativeness to the words. “I don't require anything at present. However, what about yourself? I'd be more than happy to offer my assistance if there are any investigations you would like a hand with.”

Chris blinked again. A slight frown settled on his features, but it did not appear angry. “You want to help me?”

Ethan shrugged. “I don't have any outstanding cases of my own.”

“Well sure…” he said, a note of confusion still lingering in his voice. “I was actually about to head out to deal with a minor home robbery report after I got some coffee if you want to tag along?”

“Isn't it a bit early for that, given standard human schedules?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. Lady's been calling since four this morning though, Jenny says she's about ready to blacklist her.”

The ST300 had a habit of complaining quite vocally about the less well mannered callers, to the point it was probably a breach of confidentiality, but none of the DPD made more than a token effort to dissuade her. As the only android receptionist to have returned after the revolution she had them at her mercy. Unlike her human coworkers she could take five calls at once while simultaneously greeting front door visitors, she never messed up her paperwork, and she could identify and log the arrival of anyone significant with a mere glance.

Good for PR, was the excuse Fowler had settled on. Ethan knew better.

When he pinged her and sent an inquiry, she gleefully informed him that Mrs. Townsend was an insufferable old hag who deserved far more than a robbery, and compressed and sent him a text document transcribing the seven calls the woman had made thus far.

She did not seem pleasant.

“I'm ready to go as soon as you are, officer,” Ethan said, picking up his plant.

Chris nodded. “Alright then. You want to meet me out by the parking lot? I'll get this coffee to go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ethan let Chris drive, observing the way he paused to sip from his Styrofoam cup at the red lights. The man had made no comment at the sight of the plant accompanying them. He seemed happy enough to fill the journey with other small talk, something that Ethan's social relations programming knew to be standard etiquette under the circumstances, but he decided that as humans went Chris was not bad. Or at least, there were far worse humans.

Mrs. Townsend was evidently one of them.

“Are you the police? Well, it's about time they sent someone.” She huffed, looking Chris up and down. “I suppose you will have to do.”

Charlotte Townsend, age 64, husband deceased (2034), two children, no criminal record. Her grey hair was pinned up in a bun that pinched her skin back. Her cheeks were hollow, mouth a grim line, eyes devoid of humor. Ethan's scan confirmed her clothing to be expensive, if dated, and her jewelry of antique design. He did not like her.

“Officer Miller,” Chris said, showing her his badge. He left a pause but Ethan had no interest in introducing himself, and Charlotte's eyes had glazed over him the second she registered his LED. “Do you mind if we come in, ma'am?”

“Oh, of course, please do.” She held the door open, ushering them past.

Ethan scanned the hallway. Nothing immediately drew his attention but he stored all the data in case it proved useful later, from the fabric blend of the carpet to the design of the wallpaper, the scuffs along the skirting board, the wattage of the overhead light.

Tiny details were what he was designed to register, all the little things that slipped by human minds.  Things their squishy, mortal brains didn't have the power to discern... to identify... to memorize. Ethan suspected that the human perspective of the world was half blind - even if he rarely had any need to recognize the specific origin and model of a lampshade, the thought of being unable to do so was unpleasant. He _liked_ knowing things.

Charlotte closed up behind them and lead them to the lounge. It didn't take a supercomputer to identify the pride she held for the little room.

It was a senseless clutter as far as he was concerned, but humans were like that. The row of decorative plates on the shelf, the painted vase on its pedestal, the figures lining the windowsill, the old wood of the coffee table, the artworks hanging on the walls... Charlotte was a collector. There were, he noted, one or two fakes, but most of her possessions were quality antiques.

The estimated value of the pieces on display was impressive.

He still didn't like her.

“Take a seat, I don't need you looming over me,” she said, flapping them toward the couch before settling in her armchair as if it were a throne.

Chris cautiously sat, but Ethan elected to loom.

“You made a call to the station this morning regarding a robbery, ma'am. Do you think you could clarify the details for us?” Chris asked.

Charlotte let out an exasperated sound. “Oh, did that dreadful receptionist not tell you? Typical. Very well, as I explained repeatedly over the phone, both my spoons _and_ coins have been taken!”

She said it with complete seriousness, waiting as if the gravity of the situation would somehow occur to them.

Ethan kept his face blank.

“Spoons, ma'am?” Chris tried, pen hovering over the notepad he’d drawn out.

“Collectibles, all rare and highly valuable.”

Chris’s expression settled to one of relief, which he quickly schooled into something more professional as he made a short scribble on the note pad, and cleared his throat. “And, uh, when did you notice they were missing?”

“This morning! Why do you think I've been calling!” Charlotte snapped.

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Oh, I don't know, yesterday probably. Officer, this is all unnecessary, I already know who did it I just need you to retrieve my things from them.”

Chris pursed his lips. “And who would that be?”

“That darn android of course.”

Chris visibly winced, his eyes shooting to Ethan momentarily. Ethan’s blank expression did not change an iota. Troubled, the man glanced between Charlotte and him again, before tapping his pen against the notepad twice. The motion appeared to focus him. “You'll have to be more specific I'm afraid,” he said.

Charlotte was all too happy to leap into her story. “Well I was having some work done to the bathroom, renovations you know, I've always thought the tiling... anyway, I had no idea the company would send one of those _things_. I already had plans to go shopping though and as much as I hated to leave it alone in the house I figured they must have it under control otherwise they wouldn't be hiring it. When I got back it had finished, so I assumed that was the end of the matter. But I woke up suddenly this morning and it occurred to me I hadn't checked my valuables. And when I did, both collections were gone!”

“Do you recall what model number they were?” Ethan asked, speaking for the first time. The suddenness of the query startled both humans, and they looked at him.

Charlotte glanced at Chris, and the officer repeated the question.

“How should I know? They never wear uniforms anymore.”

“And have you had any other visitors in the last week?” he asked.

She glanced again at Chris, but seemed to understand she was expected to answer before he could tell her as much. “Well of course I have, I'm not a shut in. Dantelle drops by all the time for tea, and it was my turn to host book club this Monday so all of those ladies were here, then my daughter wanted to check up on me too. I've been quite busy, I must tell you.”

Ethan logged the information, set an online search to find book clubs in the area with visible members, tagged all members when he found the one Charlotte attended, dedicated a small percentage of his processing power to digging up any relevant data on them he could find, did the same for the daughter, and turned to leave the room. He doubted anything meaningful would come from questioning the woman, and honestly, he couldn't be bothered.

Instead, he made his way to the stairs, scanning as his went. He picked up two sets of footsteps following behind but didn't dignify them by pausing to look.

“What's that thing doing?”

Chris sighed. “His job, ma'am. He's a detective. You don't mind if we look around, do you?”

“Well, I suppose not. Don't let it touch anything though.”

Ethan resolved to lick at least one piece of evidence before he was done.

“And why is it carrying a plant?”

“I really wouldn't know, ma'am, you'd have to ask him.”

She didn't ask. Ethan was almost disappointed. He'd spent an entire 0.3 nano-seconds constructing a lengthy speech on the importance of the bromeliad and he was quite proud of it, but it would be wasted on Charlotte. In fact, he was wasting far too much of his processing power thinking about her, and he'd rather be analyzing the wallpaper.

The upper floor of the house contained a bathroom, freshly tiled and far larger than Hank's, as well as a bedroom, a study, what he concluded was a spare room, and finally the scene of the crime itself – the space she had chosen to sequester her most valuable pieces.

There were two more vases on pedestals next to the door. Beyond that, several glass cases held a variety of trinkets, from porcelain animals to old navel equipment. All that seemed to matter to Charlotte was that they were old, and they looked interesting enough to be valuable.

A quick scan identified the two empty cases. The glass was undamaged, and there was no sign that the locks had been tampered with, only that the contents was missing.

“Where is it that you keep the key for these?” he asked.

“Ma’am?” Chris prompted.

“In my room, if you must know,” she said, “hidden quite safely. I’m not foolish enough to leave them lying around.”

Her tone was defensive and more than a little offended, like they might be implying that this were her own fault.

“Your book club members visited on Monday, but when was it precisely that your daughter and this Dantelle were last here, and did they come alone?”

Charlotte chose to address Chris again, as if it were him that had asked. “Dantelle was here, oh, the day before yesterday I think? She was complaining about the neighbours dog - terrible beast. My daughter was here on the Tuesday with her boyfriend, a little late in the evening, it takes them a while to drive out. You must know that they’re absolutely not suspects though. Can’t you hurry this up, I’ve told you the culprit already!”

Ethan glanced back at the empty cases. “Oh, the android isn’t guilty. The timing doesn’t match up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s fortunate you don’t dust here regularly,” he said, hoping that the subtle jab didn’t go unnoticed, “the accumulation of dust, and how it has been disturbed, indicates that the cases were opened days ago, not yesterday.”

“Impossible! I-”

“Did it occur to you to check on your valuables before you had an android in your home?”

“Well, listen here-”

“I’ve calculated the most likely suspect,” Ethan announced. “Your daughter, in fact. Social media indicates that she and her boyfriend had planned a trip abroad, but a sudden road accident cost them their savings. That indicates motive. I imagine you were a convenient means to an ends. She would have known where to find what she was after, and probably the location of your key. With her boyfriend in attendance one of them could keep you distracted while the other undertook the theft, something that Dantelle would have been unable to manage. While there are no fingerprints, gloves would be enough to hide them. Would you like us to bring them in for questioning? Despite their initial plans to cancel, their plane to Fiji leaves early next week.”

Charlotte was shaking. Her cheeks were puffed, nostrils flared, and Ethan half expected her to stamp her foot but the woman only shook her head in a sharp, abrupt motion. “This-this is unacceptable!”

“I’m merely telling you the facts. They had motive, opportunity, and the timeframe matches up,” he pointed out. “It’s possible they may be innocent. We will, of course, question them thoroughly and check any suspicious financial gains, as well as conduct a search of their property. If you wish for us to continue with the investigation, that is. I’d understand if you would not want to press charges.”

Charlotte had given up on ignoring him long ago, for she glared at him with full force, and there was no hiding the hatred there. It was a subtle victory, but one he reveled in. All it had taken him to achieve was the truth, and a small degree of smugness.

Charlotte had not wanted them to solve anything, she had wanted them to arrive and tell her that she was right, and agree about how awful androids were and what a mistake it was to allow them in the workforce. To find another android on the scene, and her own family name besmirched, was not what she had anticipated. For a woman used to getting her own way it was a rude awakening.

Ethan thought it was marvelous.

“I… I want you out of my house,” Charlotte stated, cold and with poorly contained fury.

There was little reason to remain, so he nodded. “Very well.”

Ethan turned on his heel, heading for the doorway but hesitating as he reached it. He contemplated the vases on either side.

Decision made he shifted the grip on his plant to one hand, picked up a vase, and licked it. The expression on Charlotte's face was exquisite.

“It may interest you to know that your vase, as well as your collection of porcelain figures, are fakes. I hope you did not pay much for them. Have a nice day.” He flashed her a preset smile before he set the vase down, turned, and walked out.  

 

* * *

 

 

Ethan waited by the car, head tipped back to watch the clouds drift in lazy clusters across the sky. It was several minutes later when Chris emerged.

The officer walked slowly, staring at Ethan with a strange kind of wonder, before shaking his head and finally coming to a stop beside him. “It’s not how I saw this playing out, but man am I glad you came… did you _see_ her after you licked that pot?”

“Yes. I have a recording of it.”

“Priceless… that’ll be sticking with me for a while. Anyway, she’d like us to drop the investigation for now, but apparently there’ll be a strongly worded letter of complaint to follow,” he said.

“I doubt it is any cause for concern.”

Chris hastily waved the idea aside. “Oh yeah, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, with the way she was acting around you a little extra polish on her pottery is the least she deserves. I kept expecting you to say something, but you just ignored her most of the time.”

“Well,” Ethan reasoned, “I couldn't call her a trumped up, bigoted hoarder to her face. I'm a professional.”

Chris laughed. “You're alright, you know that?”

Ethan wasn't sure what the proper response to such an assertion was, but he settled for a nod. “Thank you Officer Miller.”

“You can call me Chris if there aren't any suspects around. Feels a bit unfair otherwise – I mean, you and Connor don't even _have_ surnames,” he said, and although it initially sounded teasing, something about it must have struck the human because he frowned, like the thought was new.

“We do have serial numbers.”

“Yeah,” Chris said hesitantly, “but that's not really... the same.”

Ethan supposed he was willing to concede that. While the RK line had only three members, most android series spanned thousands, so the letters themselves were no indication of closeness in the same way that family names were. And when it came to identifying himself as a number… well, he didn’t mind much if it was another android, they saw the world through hexagonal codes and read serial numbers in CyberLife-sans above the head of every other android they met. Humans, though, had a way of making numbers seem insignificant. To them serial numbers were only meant for objects, and he much preferred a simple, five letter name because they could wrap their lips around it in a manner they could never manage for ‘RK900’. Anything more was superfluous.

“Surnames are a human custom,” he decided, “androids have no need for them.”

Chris gave a small chuckle. “Figured you might say something like that. Look… I really do have to thank you for coming out here. Not sure why you offered, but I was _not_ looking forward to dealing with that lady by myself. You ever need a favour, you just let me know, okay? I’ve got your back.”

He smiled at Ethan.

The android cocked his head to the side in a thoughtful manner as he studied the expression, and filed the memory away for later review. Then, carefully, he allowed his own lips to quirk upward slightly - not the preset grin that always showed too many teeth, but his own wry half-smile. Small, but perfectly visible.

“I will keep it in mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Back at the station Gavin had still yet to arrive. Ethan returned his plant to its spot, and began to weigh his options. He compiled footage from his encounter with Charlotte and compressed a copy to share with the ST300 on reception duty later, a distraction that only wasted a fraction of a second, but then he was back to waiting.

Logically, following Gavin’s normal schedule, it would not be long until he appeared. This was still not satisfactory.

Closing his eyes momentarily, Ethan began the process of wirelessly worming himself into the city’s CCTV footage using the DPD’s authority as leverage. It was a great deal more taxing that using the building’s security cameras, and also far more likely to land him in trouble if anyone discovered what he was up to, but it did allow him to snatch a glimpse of Gavin’s car. That was all he needed to calculate an estimated arrival time.

Delicately erasing his trail, Ethan disconnected and committed three circuits of bullpen before he made his way to the parking lot. The place was deserted.

Ethan rarely had cause to spend any time in the area, preferring to use the automated taxi service as a reliable means of transport. The parking lot was nothing but dull grey concrete, empty cars and used cigarette butts, hardly enticing.

It had several cameras covering its span, as well as one on the DPD stairwell leading down to it, and another overlooking the entrance where the road turned off into its grim maw. He would have ample warning regardless of which direction people came from.

When Gavin’s car finally pulled in, twenty-three seconds after Ethan had predicted, he was waiting calmly beside the detective’s parking spot with his hands folded neatly behind his back.

He’d anticipated the slim possibility that Gavin might attempt to run him down, but the car simply drew into place with more speed than necessary and a screech of tires. If it was meant to startled Ethan it failed.

He continued to wait with artificial patience until the door swung open.

Gavin emerged, clad in his usual leather jacket and jeans. He ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw, looking Ethan up and down with a frown. Even accounting for human stupidity, he had to recognise the break in routine, how severely this veered from their normal corridor confrontations and clipped insults while passing desks.

Still, the detective settled on a sneer, leaning back with one arm resting across the roof of the car. He raised his eyebrows at Ethan. “What are you doing here, plastic? Just can't get enough, eh?”

“Not as such,” Ethan replied, “I just needed a place where we would be undisturbed, and where the security footage would be easy to loop.”

Gavin stared at him. Ethan could almost see, like little lights, the firing of synapses as his human brain began to process that information, tottering ever closer to a conclusion. He waited just long enough for Gavin to reach it before he snapped into motion.

His predictive software had already calculated that Gavin would go for his gun, so catching his wrist before it had the opportunity was easy.

Expertly, Ethan trapped the detective in a lock, one arm twisted behind his back and the other pinned to his side as he shoved him against the car. He set his spare hand on the back of Gavin’s skull, exerting just enough pressure to be threatening.

“The fuck!” Gavin yelled, thrashing uselessly.

“I know what you did, detective,” Ethan said, dialling his voice down a few decibels for effect. “I'm sure it comes as no surprise to find I'm displeased.”

“You don't know shit!”

Ethan sighed. It was too much to expect Gavin to be reasonable. “If you had done that to Connor, I would crush your head until your skull burst, and then tidy away the evidence so that no one would ever find you.”

“Fuck _you_ , you think your threats scare me?” Gavin spat.

“That was not a threat,” Ethan informed him, tightening his grip slightly, “I'm simply telling you what would have happened.”

Gavin went quiet.

Maybe it was beginning to occur to him that an RK900 was indeed perfectly capable of squashing his head like a used paper ball. Maybe it was also occurring to him that a supercomputer designed to solve crimes using the smallest of details would know exactly what to hide, or how to build a false trail. Ethan hoped it was.

“Yeah, well...” Gavin managed to grind out, “he's a good little robot, too stuck up to waste time messing with other people's computers. You're the only piece of plastic that does that.”

“Which is fortunate for you, detective,” Ethan said. “It means I do not have to kill you.”

“What do you want? You want me to fucking apologize? Is that it?”

Ethan entertained the possibility for a moment. It would be nice to have Gavin beg forgiveness. To force the words out of him. But in a way that would be letting Gavin win too, letting him know that it had _got_ to him, that an apology was something the thought he _needed_...

Ethan didn't need empty words.

He had Gavin entirely helpless, and the man's frustration was far more rewarding.

“That would be pointless. No, I would like you to tell me where you acquired that virus, who gave it to you, and if it has been distributed elsewhere.”

“What makes you think I got it from anywhere?”

Again, Ethan felt a spark of irritation. Gavin had to recognise his predicament, delaying things was of no help, and if he thought he could deceive a super computer he was delusional. “Because you did not construct it yourself, you lack the intelligence. If you tell me I will have no need to implicate you. If not, I will be forced to press charges and run through this formally. Or I could just break your arm.”

The first part was a bluff. He wasn’t certain about the second part.

Gavin just sneered. “Enjoy torturing people do you, plastic?”

“I'm not sure yet, would you like me to find out?” he asked lightly.

That seemed to have the more desired effect. Gavin went quiet again, teeth locked together and his breath coming out in a hiss. Ethan could measure the increase of his heart rate. It was gratifying.

The detective’s muscle jerked as he made another attempt to free himself but Ethan’s grip did not slacken, and finding himself still trapped the detective resorted to cursing, but he appeared to understand his situation more clearly.

“Fuck, fuck...” Gavin muttered, “You really think you're going to get away with this you piece of shit?”

“Yes.” Ethan twisted just a little harder, to make his point.

Gavin swore again. “Alright, alright…” he said, “shit, look, I don't know who they were, old friend of mine set me up, simple exchange, never spoke a word to them. Gave them the cash they gave me a drive. Under the table stuff. Was at a bar called, like... 'Danger Zone' or something?”

“The name of your friend?”

“I'm not a rat.”

Ethan increased his pressure on the arm.

Gavin cursed, and swore, and bent as best he could to relieve the pressure on it but even with his voice a rasp of pain, the resolve it carried did not waver. “I said I'm not... a fucking... rat. If you're gonna break it you fucking do it!”

Perhaps he owed Gavin more credit than he had given him. Loyalty was not a quality he had expected from the man. Whether it was loyalty to his supposed friend or his own shaky code of honor Ethan could not say, but it was curious by nature of its existence, and he decided in that moment that he would not be breaking Gavin’s arm.

Not today, at any rate.

Instead he removed the hand he’d kept at the back of Gavin’s skull, and adjusted his position so that he could rifle through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“Borrowing your phone, detective. I will only be a moment.”

Ethan quickly downloaded his contacts list, as well as recent message logs, and after brief consideration also made some changes to the settings. Satisfied, he slipped it back into Gavin's pocket.

“Thank you for your cooperation, detective Reed.”

Exactly how useful the information would prove to be he couldn’t say, but he could run over it as a background task and do some proper digging when he was off the clock.

Removing the culprits and any threat the virus posed would satisfy Connor and the Jericho androids - and if they were satisfied, they would have no need to investigate on their own. That significantly lowered the chances of them ever discovering Gavins involvement, and the fact that a human so fundamentally flawed had _still_ managed to make an RK900 collapse and nearly melt its own circuits, because he’d decided he’d rather take that secret to the grave.

He was the most advanced android in existence. Bad enough that they knew a virus had managed to damage his systems so badly, but being fooled into it by a man like _Gavin Reed_ … oh no, that was absolutely unacceptable.

He had things under control. He’d erased the virus, he’d confronted Gavin, he’d secured leads, and he would wrap this all up and bury it where no one could remember. It was elementary.

When he released him, Gavin immediately threw a punch.

Ethan caught the fist mid swing, and stared back at him with a neutral expression. “Did Connor not teach you this match up will pan out?” he asked. “Need I remind you, that as an RK900, your odds are even less favourable?”

Yanking his hand back Gavin unfurled the middle finger instead.

“You stay the hell away from me, tin can. You got that?”

 _Or what_ , Ethan could have asked, but the fact that Gavin had no realistic threat to make was victory enough. As he watched, Gavin straightened his jacket, sniffed, and tried to regain some of his usual swagger. It was as if he thought acting like the last minute had not happened would make his wish a reality.

Perhaps that worked for him in other situations. However, an advanced prototype such as the RK900 was designed to read people. He could measure the discomfort in every muscle’s twitch, in every heartbeat, in the way the man’s grey eyes moved with subconscious agitation despite his best efforts... Somewhere beneath this pantomime of indifference, Gavin’s pride was suffering - he was angry, frustrated, and best of all just a _little_ bit scared.

Ethan was having a good day.

 

* * *

 

 

As he had anticipated, there wasn’t much Gavin could do besides glare at him across the bullpen. Attempting to report the confrontation would lead to implicating himself in what Ethan was still referring to as ‘the incident’, which was an outcome neither of them wanted.

He had been running pre-constructions, and calculated a 42% possibility Gavin would walk past later in the day so that he could ‘accidentally’ spill his coffee over him, but Ethan had already prepared counter measures.

Things were falling back into a rhythm he was comfortable with.

Only two officers had enquired after his well-being after yesterday, to his relief, and with a new case freshly downloaded into his head he could make up for the dip in his efficiency. He had summoned an automated taxi and was preparing to leave when his plans were summarily ruined.

“Reed, Ethan - my office, now!”

The words were shouted across the room with no forewarning. Fowler simply appeared, yelled, and satisfied that he had been heard promptly retreated back to his den.

Gavin blanched. He shot Ethan a look, before catching himself and stubbornly sending his gaze elsewhere. Then he shrugged, stood, and trudged his way off toward Fowler’s office.

Ethan had still not moved. He could sense eyes on him. If he connected to the security feed again he was sure he would be able to see them, the many curious stares across the bullpen, all alerted by the sudden sound and turning toward the one in the line of fire.

Gavin had chosen the best approach -  to feign unconcern, and let them write it off as something insignificant, nothing gossip worthy. Logically, he should follow suit.

Carefully he got up from his desk and pushed his chair in before crossing the room to the climbing the steps to the office, expression blank.

Had Fowler been able to unravel yesterday’s ‘incident’? The probability was slim, but perhaps Connor had been able to put it together and had seen fit to inform him? He hadn’t seen his double at the precinct yet, presumably still waiting for Hank to wake, but that didn’t rule it out.

It seemed out of character for what Ethan understood of the other android though. If Connor knew, he would want to be present when the matter was addressed, fully prepared with every law or regulation he could use to see Gavin appropriately punished.

What of their confrontation in the car park then? Ethan was confident he had erased any sign of himself from the security feed, and had stitched together a convincing alternative using footage of Gavin’s previous arrivals at the precinct. How could Fowler conceivably know?

There were many possibilities, but none of them seemed likely, and Ethan’s processor whirred over them with irritability as he constructed a map of potential outcomes but could not settle on one.

He was uncertain, and he did not like it.

When he entered the office Fowler was already sitting at his desk, and Gavin had taken one of the chairs on the other side, arms folded across his chest and leaned back in a slouch with his legs stretching out.

Ethan closed the door behind him.

“Sit down,” Fowler said, without looking up from the tablet he was using.

“I would prefer to stand.”

“Well I would prefer you to sit, so sit down.”

Ethan stood there for a moment before reluctantly taking the empty chair beside Gavin and perching upon it with rigidity.

Fowler still did not look up from his tablet, continuing to read whatever covered the screen as if the two detectives were not there. A power move, Ethan decided. It was designed to remind them of their place, their insignificance compared to him. Humans were so obvious sometimes.

At length Fowler finally set the tablet down on the desk and lifted his head. “I've been getting complaints, Reed. About you.”

Gavin snorted. “So what?”

“A lot of them.”

Ethan did not consider this to be news.

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Is it Anderson? You really gonna listen to anything that drunk-”

“Not internal complaints. External ones. From androids,” Fowler said, cutting him off before he had a chance to say more.

Gavin’s face twisted. Half disgust, half bafflement. “Plastics? Who gives a damn-”

“I give a damn is who! I don't care what your personal feelings are, legally they're people, and you're a fucking PR nightmare right now! You've been given enough warnings. If you don't learn to play nice I'm not gonna have a choice.”

The quiet left in the absence of Fowler’s voice was palpable. Gavin blinked. He pulled his legs in and sat up properly - for the first time since entering the office he appeared to be taking the situation seriously.

“A choice?” he asked. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” was all Fowler had to say.

Ethan still wasn’t sure why he was there, but so far he was enjoying himself more than he had expected. Getting to witness Gavin chewed out by someone who he had no choice but to listen to was a special occasion. He was happy to sit there all day if that was what it would entail. He would save some of the footage to share with Connor later.

“Detective Ethan?”

He turned his head, opting for a polite and even tone. “Yes Captain?”

“You'll be partnering up with him.”

Ethan’s processor stuttered. It seemed uncertain how to catalogue the moment, faltering in a way it had no right to do… then immediately after he felt the sudden flare of electrical activity as he began the task of working out what had just happened. And more importantly, any plausible way to make it _un_ -happen. His eyelids fluttered briefly before he got them back under control.

He was a supercomputer, he was not shocked. He could not _be_ shocked. This was an oversight on his part, yes, but he could rectify the situation, he had things under control.

Gavin, of course, was not so reasonable.

His chair screeched backward and he was on his feet in a flash, both hands planted firmly on the desk. “No way! No fucking way!”

“Captain,” Ethan interjected calmly, “I have no need for a partner, I am more than capable of fulfilling my workload without one. If anything, detective Reed could slow me down-”

Gavin whipped round. “Oh I'll slow you down will I, asshole?”

Fowler sent them both a glare. “Shut up, the pair of you. Reed, this is your one shot to prove you're anything but a liability, I do _not_ need the Android Rights Commission on my ass. And you, detective 'capable of fulfilling my workload', in case you've forgotten you _collapsed_ yesterday. I'm pretty sure if you were human I'd have you on medical leave. What if that happened in the field, huh? While you were on a suspect?”

“It will not happen in the field,” Ethan said firmly.

“But what if it did?”

“It will not.”

Fowler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. “You're both off homicide. I've got a stack of missing persons cases, androids, that need shifting. Clear them up for me and I'll consider putting you back where you were.”

“Fuck that, you can't just take my cases off me and dump me with lost property!”

“Except that I can, and you're going to get the hell over it or hand in your resignation. You're working with Detective Ethan, and you're clearing these missing persons cases. Now, if you don't have any further questions?”

Fowler lifted both his eyebrows in a very pointed look, picking up his tablet and waiting as Gavin stood fuming.

The detective’s lips were pulled tight, biting something back despite his evident wish to speak. His hands were clenched. The colour had bled out from the skin, the knuckles and tendons standing out in stark white.

Abruptly he kicked the leg of his abandoned chair, the violence of the motion loosening whatever intangible thing had kept him trapped in place, freeing him to storm off to the door.

“Fuck this.”

Fowler didn’t dignify him with a reaction to the outburst. Instead, he added, “You should already have access to the files, I’ll expect an update on your progress next week.”

Gavin attempted to slam the door on his way out, but the hinges were designed to catch and dull any unnecessary force to protect the glass, and it simply settled into place with a gentle and lethargic hiss.

Fowler returned his attention to his tablet.

When Ethan still had not moved two minutes later, he finally glanced up at him.

“Did you have any questions?”

Ethan weighed his options. There was a lot he’d considered saying - various reasons that himself and Gavin were a poor choice of workmates on this particular task, all perfectly constructed arguments that raised valid concerns - but he’d already recognised the futility of it. No matter how many simulations of the conversation he ran the outcome was never favorable.

Fowler was a stubborn man. When he had made his mind up, it would take a great deal to budge him - far more than the blatant animosity Gavin and he held for each other. The only leverage he _did_ have was something he was unwilling to speak of.

It rankled Ethan’s pride to realise how useless his negotiative software was against someone like the Captain. Logic would not appeal to him any more than emotion would.

“No thank you, Captain,” he said, standing smoothly, “I believe I have work to get started with. I will see these cases closed as swiftly as possible.”

“Good,” Fowler said, and it was clear he considered this an end to the discussion.

Ethan took his cue to depart.

If there was no way to avoid the Captain’s ruling, there was an alternative solution to mitigate whatever discomfort he was about to suffer. His obligation to Gavin only stood as long as the missing persons cases they’d been assigned did, so the sooner he solved them the sooner he could go back to ignoring him until he saw a promising opportunity to irritate the detective. That was as far as either of them wanted their association to go.

He supposed the one silver lining to the situation was that if anyone was enjoying themselves less than himself at present, it was Gavin Reed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, just failing to update any of my fics regularly... this probably needs more polish but I just wanted to get it out there.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I guess I'm starting another multi-chapter fic?


End file.
